Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. He was saying things I’d wanted to hear, all my life. He hugged me again and whispered, “It’s okay, Em. Let it out.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t even know why I’m doing this now. We were having such a good night, and I’m ruining it.”
“You’re not ruining anything.” Once I finally let go of him, he took my hand and said, “Let’s get you home. It’s cold out here.”
When we reached the house, he waved to the purple dragon and called, “Hi, Smaug.” He was obviously trying to lighten the mood, and it worked.
“Smaug? Really?”
“It’s the only dragon I could think of.”
“Have you been a huge Lord of the Rings nerd this whole time, and I’m only now finding out about it?”
“Maybe.”
He smiled at me when I teased, “You think you know a person.”
We went inside and changed into sweats, and I let the dog run around the backyard for a few minutes while Bryson made us some hot chocolate. Then Dusty joined us as we took a seat on the couch.
We found an old Christmas movie on TV, and I pulled a throw blanket over all three of us. After a while, I said, “Oh, hey—it’s after midnight, so happy birthday, Bry. I hope it ends up being a good day.”
He sounded sincere as he leaned against me and murmured, “It’s already off to a great start.”
11
Bryson
Embry was so excited about the cake he’d made for my birthday that he insisted on presenting it before breakfast. I took a seat at the kitchen island, and he brought it to me with a single lit candle. Then he serenaded me with the birthday song before instructing me to make a wish.
I blew out the candle and told him, “This is incredible, Em.”
The cake was beautifully decorated in a basketweave pattern, but the most remarkable part was the scene on top of it. He’d used gum paste to make cartoon figures of him and me, right down to his curls and my glasses. They stood at a marble counter, which held a miniature rolling pin, a bowl, and a baking sheet with rows of tiny cookies.
He tried to tell me everything that had gone wrong with it. He’d initially wanted the figures sitting at a table, but they kept tipping over and the chair legs kept breaking off, so he had to rework it. “I hadn’t used gum paste before, and I’d always wanted to try it,” he said. “I obviously need a lot of practice.”
Then he served me a rainbow-colored slice and watched closely while I tasted it. “What do you think? I found a new recipe for lemon cake, so I thought I’d give it a try.”
“It’s delicious. See for yourself.”
When I fed him a bite of cake, a faint blush crept into his cheeks, and he murmured, “It’s really good.”
“Thank you for making this. It means a lot to me.”
He smiled shyly before announcing, “I can’t wait, I need to give you your birthday present. Be right back.” He darted from the kitchen and ran upstairs. A minute later, he returned with a big, brightly colored gift bag, which he held out to me as he said, “I hope you like it.”
He held his breath and waited to see my reaction. The bag contained a large sketch pad, a huge box of colored pencils, and a set of watercolor paints. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” he said. “If all you want to do is keep drawing food, then go for it. But you really are an artist, Bry, so I wanted to give you a way to explore that. If you want to. But you don’t have to.”
I gave him a hug as I told him, “Thank you, I love it.”
When I let go of him, he seemed a bit flustered. “Sorry, I got carried away. You haven’t even had coffee or breakfast yet, and I’m ambushing you with an entire birthday celebration first thing.”
“It’s a wonderful way to start the day.” I began to head to the refrigerator as I asked, “What would you like for breakfast?”
He grabbed my arm, and I let him drag me back to the barstool. “You’re not cooking me breakfast on your birthday. I may not be a chef, but I can still scramble some eggs and make coffee.”
It should have made me twitchy, but I actually enjoyed watching Embry cook for me. He made such a big show out of everything he did. He tried to crack the eggs with one hand, then muttered, “Oops,” and spent the next minute fishing shells out of the bowl. When he sprinkled salt, he did it from high above the pan—a move he said he saw on a cooking show—and got it all over the stovetop. “I’ll clean that up,” he said. Next, he tried to soften some butter in the microwave to make it more spreadable, but he left it in too long and ended up liquifying it.